


Finding You

by awwcoffeenooooo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Everything inbetween, F/M, Fluff, Love, Tumblr drabbles, but more to come, mainly FS for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:31:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8336593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwcoffeenooooo/pseuds/awwcoffeenooooo
Summary: Because in a thousand different universes, a million untold stories, a billion rogue stars, nothing will keep me from finding you. 
{A collection of drabbles and ficlets imported from my Tumblr}
Updates: 
10 - Angel (SPN AU)11 - Air Ais Dhomh12 - Moving In13 - I Can't Believe You Talked Me Into This14 - Rain15 - Ghost





	1. Like Rabbits

"Agent Morse?"

"Clear,"

"Director?"

"Headed up. Apartment 206. And it's agent now, Hunter,"

"Copy that,"

Coulson raised his chin lightly in Mack's direction, beckoning him to follow. The mechanic nodded, falling in next to his partner. 

"Still can't believe he's after them," Mack muttered, voice dark. "After everything they've been through, they at least deserve this."

Coulson sighed. "I know. Director's a pain. But at least after all's said and done, we're allowed to pick them up."

Mack grunted, checking around a corner before nodding for Coulson to follow. "Only wish it could have been under less stressed conditions."

"I'll take what I get,"

A week after Daisy's disappearance, Fitz and Simmons had left SHIELD for good. Every phone, laptop and Netflix account had been deactivated, leaving no trace of them. They were well and truly gone. 

After the new Director had come into leadership three months later, he'd made it a point to track down the pair of scientists. It took under a week - they may be SHIELD agents, but they weren't spies.

They'd been left alone for another few months, but now, with new Inhumans popping up around the globe with abilities that confused even the most advanced SHIELD scientists, FitzSimmons were needed once more. 

Unfortunately, without a way to contact them, the team was forced to resort to a good old fashioned drop in. And to add to the fun, AIM appeared to have also wanted to recruit the scientists. Just a bit more ...  _Forcibly_. 

"202 ... 204 ... 206," Mack mumbled softly, grinning at the last doorway. "Here we are, Turbo,"

Coulson allowed himself a small smile. Whether or not the two had disappeared without any explanation, it would still most certainly be a good thing to see them once more. 

They stood for a moment, contemplating the door and the happy giggles echoing from inside. It struck him how carefree and over all happy they sounded. 

He sighed heavily. "You know, the second we knock, we're going to ruin all this. Their little bubble they've created,"

Mack nodded softly, a gentle giant. "I know. I hate it as much as you do. But it's us or AIM,"

There was an answer on the third knock. The door swung open to reveal an early morning Fitz, hair ruffled and messy and still clad in an undershirt and pajama bottoms. Apparently Jemma had enjoyed his stubble, as it was still present. A purple mark stuck out on his neck. Coulson inwardly grinned. 

Fitz's mouth dropped open, speechless. "Y-You ... Mack?"

Mack winced. "Sorry, Turbo. Duty calls,"

They moved to come in, but Fitz refused to budge from by the door. "No. No, I'm sorry, we're not going back."

"Please, Fitz, you have to come with us. You're in danger - AIM,"

"Leo?" A voice - instantly recognizable as Jemma's - echoed from in the apartment's master bedroom. "Who is it?"

He cringed, rubbing a hand up the back of his neck. "Just a minute, sweet!" His attention narrowed to the agents before him. "Listen to me, you have to go. We aren't SHIELD anymore,"

"I can see that, but-" Coulson was cut short by the creaking of floor boards. Fitz turned to see Jemma padding towards the door, clad only in his shirt from the night before and a pair of sweatpants. Also his. 

"Jems, they were just leaving," he opened his arm to settle around her shoulders. With the movement opened up their line of sight to the biochemist, leaving Coulson and Mack both to gape at the baby bump poking out proudly from under Fitz's stolen top. 

Jemma's eyes widened instantly. "Coulson! Mack!"

Coulson gulped, tearing his eyes away from her belly. "I, um -"

Fitz winced, sucking in a breath. Jemma did much the same beside him. 

"Surprise?"

"Like rabbits, you two!" Hunter crowed over coms. 

"Bucharest?" Mack raised an eyebrow.

"Bucharest," they sighed in tandem.

"Yep, rabbits,"

 


	2. Like Rabbits - Part Two

Coulson tried to keep his vision trained on the carpet in front of him, he really did. Even  _Mack_  was having trouble with the same thing. But no matter what he did, Coulson found his gaze drifting back to the woman behind him.

Jemma waddled next to Fitz, whom was laden with a backpack of the couple's clothes and toiletries and two rolling suitcases filled with collected baby items and Jemma's food cravings. 

Mack was rolling a third up front.

"So, um, how've you been?" He tried, and failed to look at Jemma's face but his eyes were pulled right back down to the bowling ball of a midsection.

"It's like heaven. And hell," she glared stiffly at him. "My eyes are up here, sir,"

Coulson gave her a weak grin.

* * *

 

Jemma waddled onboard the Zephyr, several techs suddenly looking up at her arrival. A few nodded their approval to Fitz, one even giving a round of applause followed by a shouted "It's canon!" And another rather familiar face sulked in the corner.

Fitz grinned smugly to himself.  _Wrap your oddly shaped head around that, Milton!_

He stashed their bags out of the way before following his wife up the stairs to the control room. Everyone's heads turned as if at once.  
More nods. And then an ear splitting whistle that had even May wincing.

Fitz groaned. "Hello, Hunter."

The merc came flying out at them, an insanely wide grin on his face. "Well, if it isn't my favorite pair of wascally wabbits!" He paused for a moment. "Oh, wait, might want to do a head count there,"

Jemma gave him a tight smile. "Nice to see you, Lance,"

His mouth opened to reply, but Bobbi grabbed his tac vest from behind. "Don't piss her off, Hunter. Her hormones could take your head off,"

He cast a glare at his wife. "I'm just welcoming them aboard. Nothing wrong with that,"

"Mmhm," she shoved him playfully, leaning forward to give Jemma a hug. "I need details," she murmured into her ear, smirking.

Fitz rolled his eyes, overhearing. "Please keep it PG, Morse,"

Jemma leaned to peck him on the nose. "Sorry, Fitzy,"

He groaned.

May entered, giving Hunter another light shove to which he protested loudly, and took a glance at the pair of them. A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "How are they?"

Jemma looked flustered for a moment before her smile broke through. "Excellent. Couple of rowdy ones, they are. Just like their father," she leaned back into Fitz, his arm automatically coming up to rest on her bump.

Hunter gagged. "You two, I swear," suddenly, he perked up. "Wait, them?"

Fitz smiled dreamily. "Them. Twins. We're half way to an SUV,"

"Mini van," Jemma corrected.

"No, SUV. I'm not being caught dead in one of -"

"- not that bad -"

" - family friendly -"

"- safer, more safety features -"

The two continued on, one after the other. 

Hunter sighed dreamily. "They're back, Bobs! Our tiny nerdy children!"

She hit him upside the head.

 


	3. The Call

Fitz paced nervously back and forth in the bedroom of their shared flat, his fingers tightly clenched around his phone. The echo of water running came from the adjoining bathroom, Jemma having just entered the shower. 

He sighed nervously, tapping his fingers on the small box in his pocket and gearing up to make the most important phone call of his entire life. 

_Just do it,_ his mind muttered, fed up. 

So he did, fingers shaking as they typed in the number set. 

It rang twice before a click came from the other end, a gruff voice answering. "Hello?"

Fitz gulped, his voice raising in pitch. "He-Hello, sir. Mr. Simmons. Sir."

The voice sighed. "Fitz, what have we talked about?"

"Not to call you sir, I know. I know, just . . . " Fitz trailed off, scratching nervously at his shirt collar. "I have something important to ask you,"

"Yes?" Mr. Simmons prompted, voice deep but gentle. 

"IwanttoaskforJemma'shandinmarriage,"

The words flooded out before he could stop them, and he swore to the cosmos his heart stopped in his chest. It was like the medpod all over again, his chest completely unable to reach oxygen. 

When still silence came from the other end, Fitz jumped into his back up speech. 

"It's just I love her, sir. She's been my best friend for over a decade and I can't imagine my life without her. We've been through a lot and I know she's your little girl -"

"No, Fitz."

He was cut off by a chuckle. And in that instant, he swore his heart had started only to once again stop. 

"Oh, okay then," his heart heavy, he pulled the phone from his ear and raised his thumb to press the end call button. 

"Not like that!" Another voice stopped him, prompting him to raise the phone again to his ear. "I just can't believe it took you so bloody long, boy!"

Fitz's eyebrows scrunched. "What?"

It was bad enough they were saying no, did they really have to be so mean about it? 

Mrs. Simmons popped on the line, giggling hard. "You're both geniuses, aren't you? Of course it's yes! Honestly, I'm surprised you two haven't already gotten hitched in Vegas or something."

Fitz reddened. "My mum's a bit traditional, I think she'd kill me if I didn't show up in a tux." 

A beat passed, more soft laughter from the other end of the line. Then Fitz seemed to fully comprehend their full statement. 

"Oh my god, thank you! Thank you both! I'm going to take care of her, I promise!"

"No worries, boy," Mr. Simmons came back on. "We'll see you at the ceremony,"

"Yeah," Fitz breathed, even as her parents ended the call. "Yeah,"

_I'm getting married._ He smiled dreamily, laying back onto the bed. 

Then he sat straight up again. 

_Holy crap I'm getting married._


	4. My Bloody Valentine

It wasn't her fault. Not really, anyway. 

Fine, not technically. 

It wasn't her idea to have her period catch her by surprise. Her calendar was marked clearly and she just happened to overlook the tiny red dot in the corner due to all of the other fine print smushed into the boxes regarding testing. 

So when she ducked into Fitz's restroom on a study break and found that Lucifer's waterfall had started, she panicked. Her most recent backpack had just been replaced, but however unfortunately she hadn't restocked all of her essentials. 

Jemma sighed, letting her head loll back against the wall. There were only so many options she had to call - in fact, only two. Daisy, a comp science student who was her only close female friend. 

With another sigh, she realized that her friend's crush of three months had finally asked her out. Which meant the two of them were out on a date, and knowing Daisy's excitement for this particular one, she would be none too pleased to make a run by the local drug store. 

Which left only one other option - Fitz. 

She stifled a groan; but regardless of whoever came up in her mind, Fitz was still the only other person she trusted enough. And he was right outside . . . 

"Fitz?" Jemma called out tentatively. She waited a beat. "Fitz!"

There was a shuffle of carpet right outside her door, and then the handle turned before he seemed to think better of it. "Yeah? Something wrong, Jems?"

Jemma let out a relieved breath. "No, no! Nothing's wrong. I just need you to run to the store and get me some supplies,"

He was silent for a second. "And this couldn't wait until you got out here because -?"

"Because I'm not . . ." She grit her teeth. "Presentable."

The door remained quiet. 

"Look," she finally sighed. "Could you just drop by a shop and grab me some things? Feminine things?" She stressed the word where she could, hoping he'd get her point. He was a prodigy - there was no way he could be that dense. 

"Oh." And a moment later - "Oh!" She swore she caught an audible gulp. "Uhm . . . yeah,"

Jemma allowed herself a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Fitz. You're a godsend,"

He weakly chuckled, the sound of his arms slipping into his coat. "N-No problem, Simmons,"

A moment later, the outside door clicked shut, and Jemma was left alone. 

* * *

 

Fitz stared dumbly up at the local Walgreens sign, people bustling around him in the near darkness. Out of every single near impossible task his teachers had ever pitted him up against, this had to be the worst. 

It's a natural bodily function. A voice sounding suspiciously like Simmons echoed in his head. Fitz grit his teeth; if men could launch a machine into space, he could get his best friend the supplies needed. 

He entered the automatic doors like a man on a mission and whipped out a shopping cart. 

Let's do this. Fitz 7:54 PM] Tampons or pads?

[Jemma 7:54 PM] Pads please

[Fitz 7:55 PM] Any specifications?

[Jemma 7:55 PM] Whatever's cheap :)

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Fitz was standing back outside the door with a box of pads in one arm and a bag full of fuzzy socks, varying ice cream flavors, her favorite chocolates and RedBox rentals in the other. 

"Ugh, Fitz," she sighed, blushing that he'd cared to look into this so much, and pulled him into a tight hug. 

"I, uh, I read an article that said there are certain chemicals in chocolate that help ease mood swings and all -" he was cut off by Jemma pressing up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. It was his turn to flush red. 

She squeezed him tighter. "Really, Fitz. Thank you so much. It means a lot to me."

He smiled softly. "No problem, Simmons,"

* * *

 

The following month, she was surprised to find her preferred brand sitting atop her bed, along with a box of chocolates. 

Jemma grinned, noting the fact that he - her best friend, male best friend - actually cared enough to get her the products she needed. 

"You cook and clean and make sure I take care of myself," he muttered sheepishly when she confronted him about it. "Only fair I pay for something you can't control,"

* * *

 

Every month, a box of pads and a box of tampons would crop up on her bed, along with a different quality brand of chocolates. No fail, she soon found. 

Even through the days on the BUS, when Fitz and Skye would make the supply runs, she found the things on her sheets. 

Skye winked at her once. "He's a keeper,"

* * *

 

Her bag was packed, ready at the door for the morning. But on her bed sat Fitz's monthly offerings, and she couldn't help but sob. 

Even with brain damage, he hadn't forgotten. 

* * *

 

Three years passed, filled with astronauts and Inhumans and wedding bells. Before she knew what was happening, her best friend had a new title and a ring and slept right next to her. 

He never forgot. Regardless of how busy he got, he would bring her what she needed. Every single month. 

One day, he hand delivered the parcels with his usual chocolates and a bunch of roses. 

She took them, rolling her eyes fondly. "You're such a romantic." She leaned forward to peck him on the nose. 

He grinned. "Don't you forget it. I have the rest of our lives to keep reminding you."

"But I don't think I'll be needing these," Jemma murmured, pushing the pad box into his arms. "Or at least not for the next nine months or so."

Fitz stared at her, eyes wide. "Jemma . . . Are you?"

Jemma bit her lip, eyes shining. "Yes,"

He dropped his load, sweeping her up into his arms and into a heated kiss.

 


	5. Field Day

Eighteen years of partnership.

Nine and a half years of marriage.

Eight years of working for SHIELD.

Seven years of parenthood.

And yet of all the things Leo and Jemma FitzSimmons had faced up to this very moment, nothing had prepared them for this moment. Not a skydive through the atmosphere, not six months on an alien planet, and not an impromptu dip to the bottom the ocean.

The sun beat hot upon their backs, a blazing ball in the sky that seemed to mock. Any slight breeze blowing lightly across the dusty prairie-esque landscape had died out long ago.

A sweat drenched curl drooped into Fitz's eye, but Jemma quickly brushed aside. Her eyes tiredly met his.

"I don't know if I can take much more of this," he groaned. "I'm so tired ... It's been ages since we've had water."

"Only twenty minutes," Jemma sighed, readjusting her stance in their shared potato sack. "This is for our daughter, Fitz! We can make it."

"But it's so bloody hot, Jems! I think I'm getting heat stroke." Fitz dragged a hand across his face for good measure.

As if on cue, a gunshot rang out. Jemma's eyes lit up with a determined light, her hands more firmly grasping the burlap sack.

Fitz groaned again stubbornly, following her lead begrudgingly. "You're going to damn well kill us both, woman." But there was no bite to his words.

A second shot rang out sharply. And they were both off.

Well, Jemma was.

Fitz, on the other hand, was caught off guard enough to send them both toppling face first into the dust.

Fitz let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, rolling over so Jemma wasn't crushing him. "I told you," he rasped. "We're gonna die, Jem."

She snorted, shoving his legs off hers. "Quit being such a wet blanket, you git. Ellie's supposed to be the dramatic one."

From out by the huge, overly colorful banner reading,"Springdale Elementary Parent-Child Field-Day," a girl came running toward them.

"Mum! Dad! You're losing!" She whined, crossing her arms when she reached them.

Jemma blew a bit of hair out of her mouth. "Yes, I see that, monkey. Not much we can do about it, though,"

Ellie sighed, grasping the edge of the sack and towing it off her parent's fallen forms. Her brow furrowed, seeing Fitz laying defeatedly. "Mum, is Dad okay? He's not moving!"

"Yes, dear, he's fine," Jemma drew out the last few words, aiming them at Fitz with a well timed shove of her shoe into his gut. He grunted, which then stretched into a childish whine.

Ellie shrugged, watching the other parents finish crossing the line at the other end of the field. She sighed again. "Well, at the very least, we can try the pie eating contest."

Fitz suddenly perked up. "Is there apple, by any chance?"

The seven year old grinned, already knowing how to engage her father. She grabbed his hand, ushering him up and toward the next contest.

"I swear we'll win this one, Jems!"

"What happened to dying of dehydration?!"

 


	6. The Good Ol' Switch-a-roo

"Oh. My. God." Jemma Simmons stared at the boy in front of her, jaw agape and eyes wide. "Who - Who are you?"

"Me?" He yelped. "Who are you?!"

It was a silent stand off - bright, frightened blue eyes boring into warm, confused amber. Two beats passed, then three, and it was then an air of recognition dawned on the boy's face.

"You - you're ... Simmons?" His jaw practically hit the floor as his eyes bugged. "But - your hair - thought you were shorter ..." He mumbled.

Jemma closed her mouth, not in the mood to attract flies. "Yes. And you're Fitz." She said softly, cocking her head to get a better view of him. "But not my Fitz,"

Fitz spluttered. "Your Fitz? But - I - you-"

"Can we please speak in full sentences?" Jemma sniffed, swallowing down her panic.

"This isn't the Academy," he changed the subject. "And you're not ... Simmons." Fitz's brow crinkled. "Well, you are, but you're not my Simmons. Not that we're ... Attached or anything."

"Only at the hip," Jemma muttered, beginning to piece together what was going on. "Let me guess, you're sixteen, and you've just met her - me - around four months ago."

His eyes widened. "What - how did you -"  
She sighed. "That's when you went through your awkward I'm-Not-Dating-Jemma-Simmons-We're-Just-Friends-And-No-Not-With-Benefits-Milton stage."

He flushed. "To be fair, Milton was a-"

Jemma waved him off. "I know. We've had this conversation before."

Footsteps rattled out in the hallway before a second Fitz - an older, stubbled Fitz - ran in. Relief washed across his face at the sight of Jemma. "God, Jems. I thought the machine had switched you out with ... Her,"

Jemma sighed in relief. "Fitz! I was thinking the same thing - thought I'd lost you!"

They ran at each other, Older!Fitz pulling her to his chest and embracing her in a heated kiss.  
Young!Fitz stared at himself kissing his lab partner.  _What the hell ..._  His eyes widened.  
Another set of footsteps padded in. The couple seemed too intent on their activity to notice at first, so Young!Fitz took it upon himself to go investigate.

A young girl, short caramel bangs in her eyes peeked around the corner, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. "Fitz!"

"Simmons!" He ran to her and scooped her up in a hug. "I bloody thought ..."

"... This man looked like you-"

"- just older -"

"- so handsome -"

"-very beautiful, I'll admit -"

"- but he wasn't you -"

"Thought I'd lost you!" The both finished simultaneously, breathless but relieved. Simmons pulled him back into another hug, eyes open this time.

Which granted her line of sight to include herself and another Fitz locked in a passionate embrace. She yelped.

"Fitz!" She spun him around and pointed. "Who's that? Is that - is that me? Us?!"

Fitz shuffled his feet awkwardly. "I, ahem, believe so,"

The two gaped for a long moment, their older halves seemingly oblivious to the fact that oxygen was a necessary part of survival.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, about that..."

The couple looked up sheepishly, Jemma's eyes widening as she smoothed down the front of Fitz's button up and then her own. "I ... I'm sorry." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "So, about returning you to your era?"

The two blinked back dumbly.

 


	7. Blood Red

Her red lips graze the shell of his ear, breath hot against his face. His eyes flutter down gently, his chest heaving.

She drops her hooded eyes shut, exhaling a final time before her lips form the words he's been dreading.

"It's time,"

In any other context he would have taken over her completely, to have melded his lips to hers, to have followed her lead to the bed. But not this time, not with a pistol clasped in each of their palms and their innocent sweaters discarded.

_It was only a cover_ , he reminds himself, grasping her hips that lay over his own and kissing her soundly. He stands, mouth never leaving hers as her thighs twist firmly about his waist, her leather clad legs squeezing against his own.

She pulls back first, blood red lips shining in he dim light, and smirks. "You can't put this off, Fitz,"

His eyes again fall shut, forehead resting against hers. She's soothing, her fingers with their scarlet nails tangling through his shorn curls. Despite the lack of sight, he can still feel her eyes boring into his own.

"Jems, I just ..." He falls off, blue eyes blinking up at her tearfully. "They were our family."

Her façade breaks, whiskey eyes softening. "I know," she murmured, fingers still dancing.

It's times like these he can almost remember what before was, what it was like to not take orders and not be in a constant limbo. It tugs at the corner of his mind, causing his face to scrunch, but he pushes past it to watch his love.

"But we have to," she whispers. Her eyes are crystalline and her cheeks snow, and for a moment he can remember when she wasn't so cold. But it's gone before he can remember, before he can pull the piece from its box. "We have to, or they'll -"

Her cut off reminds him of where they are, of who they belong to. Of  _what_  they are. If they don't do this, they die. It's as simple as that. And to lose her ...

A tear slips down his cheek unbidden, but her scarlet tipped finger wipes it away. "We can do this,"

He doesn't mention they way her voice cracks, about the way her legs slip down the backs of his or the way she seems powerful yet terrified all at once.

So he follows her out the bunk door, swallowing down his guilt and disgust, and readjusts the pin on his tactical suit.

"Hail Hydra," she whispers, lips red like what will soon coat her finger tips, and a single droplet escapes her stony face.


	8. Him

Jemma bit her lip nervously, tapping away at the control pad in her hand whilst glancing out of the corner of her eye at Fitz. Her lab partner was stationed around ten feet away, tinkering with Sleepy the DWARF and a screwdriver. 

It wasn't like any other day in SHIELD Academy's lab. Each were involved in their own separate bits of the same project, using their individual talents to make it come together as a whole. It was a magical process that usually excited the young biochemist to no end, but today something else had taken first priority in her driven mind. 

It was  _him_. He'd driven her to distraction for months before they'd become friends - after all, he was just that brilliant. And he was doing it again. 

He was distracting her, what with his mussed curls, bright eyes and quick hands. To be fair, on a normal day, he usually did distract her - but it was in a different way. Like how he left crumbs on the lab benches, or chewed far too loudly. But that was average for any human being - especially to nitpick Jemma Simmons. 

But it was only recently that it had come to her attention that he didn't distract her in the ... usual way. No, it was in a way that she only admitted to herself in the darkness of her room. She would smell his cologne on her sheets after their Who marathons, falling asleep wondering what this feeling was. What it meant to be intoxicated by his smile and held captive in his eyes. To want to be near him so badly even though she spent practically every waking moment with him.

Slowly it came to her in the confines of her room that this wasn't how you were supposed to feel about your best friend. It wasn't even how you felt for a sibling. Haltingly, she came to realize that she didn't feel towards Fitz as a friend. The way she felt was ... More than that. It was deeper, maybe even darker than what she had first recognized as a crush. 

It was only logical, she began to realize. They were aesthetically pleasing members of the opposite sex, of course one or both of them may feel attraction to the other at some point. It was base human instinct. 

But soon it wasn't just his eyes. Yes, they helped the process along, she will admit. But it was the fondness that he spoke of science, the soft way he looked like a boy as he spoke of his dreams. It was the way he comforted her when she felt homesick, or the way he always knew just what she was craving in her tea. 

Slowly, achingly, she was falling in love with her best friend. 

And she didn't have a clue as to what to do about it. 

Which brought her to this day in their lab, as vanilla as the rest. He was hunched - adorably, as her traitorous mind supplied - over his bench, brow knitted in thought as he carefully prodded and exchanged wires within his drone.

Worrying her lip further between her teeth, she allowed the wave of guilt to wash over her. It was cruel of her to fall for him. He was a sweet, innocent boy who clung to her because no one else would spare him a second glance. It wasn't because he felt any sort of romantic attachment. 

A part of her wondered if that was right at all. If perhaps he really did see her as something more than a friend or lab partner. 

The rest of her shut that train of thought down as quickly as it had come. He was her friend - best friend - for god's sake. An intellectual equal. A Netflix buddy. A  _friend_ , simple as that. 

Which was why she found the way his brow scrunched in concentration so adorable, or his untamable curls so handsome. Even the way he held himself, like a man with slight self esteem issues. Which, really, summarized Fitz, but that was another path of thought she decided not to travel down.

_You're in deep_ , she sighed to herself internally. Even when she was trying to reason to herself why he was such an excellent acquaintance, Jemma found herself traveling down the path that she banned herself from. It was a dangerous one. It was the path to take away the concrete of their friendship and wash it away into mud. 

It was admitting her feelings. 

And of course, because Jemma Simmons has a horrible case of speaking before her racing mind can catch up, she blurted out her thought. 

"Have you ever thought of us as being more, Fitz?"

Her eyes widened as her lips zipped shut, her hand frozen above the DWARF controls.  _Oh sh-_

Fitz was slowly turning a light shade of pink, starting at his ears and working its way to his cheeks as he toyed with the screwdriver in his hand. Before he spoke, he carefully set the DWARF down on his bench. "I - er, us? As - as, um, ...  _Us_?"

"Well ..." She hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Yes."

The engineer rubbed at his ear. "Yeah. I guess ... I mean," he sighed, giving up his denial to look at her sheepishly. "Am I really that obvious?"

Jemma blinked once. Then twice. Fitz stared back at her, though whether they were really seeing each other or not was lost in the moment. 

"I - you - obvious?" She stumbled. There was no way he was - was insinuating that he ... "You ... You mean you?" She purposefully left the question hanging, unsure of how to proceed. 

He wiped his hands on a grease rag, leaning back against the bench. "Yeah."

Jemma sucked in a breath.  _Oh._

Fitz couldn't meet her eyes. He wiped at an invisible patch of grease on his knuckle. "I, um - what do you want to do about it?" He was wincing when he spared a glance at her.   
Jemma ran her tongue over her teeth, considering. 

Really, she had only meant it as a question - a way to peek further into his psych. To see if he had any feelings for her at all. And now here she was, a pile of positive admissions in her lap, and she hadn't the slightest idea what to do with them.

He thought of her as more. The same as her of him. The solution was easy - too easy. To just take that step, to jump into the metaphorical ocean. 

She closed the gap between them swiftly, grasping at his shirt collar to press her lips to his. He squeaked -  _like a man_ , he'd protest later - against her lips before eagerly responding. 

Her eyes were scrunched closed, terrified to open and see his rejection. The plain terror that she'd just destroyed everything dear to the both of them. 

But when her lids fluttered open, she was met with nothing but twin pools of emotion. He was open like a book, one she could read clearly for the first time. 

They were sharing the same breaths, his warmth tickling against her reddened lips. Jemma ghosted her fingertips along his cheeks before moving them back to thread through his curls. 

His hands were liquid heat on her waist, thumbs gently circling. A breathless smile filled her face. 

Here they were, best friends, just having shared their first kiss. And for once, she didn't feel guilty about the bubbling in her chest.

 


	9. Names and Things (Huntingbird)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from my usual FitzSimmons for some Huntingbird :)

"They're so tiny,"

Out of all the things Bobbi Morse had expected out her husband's mouth post labor, that was not one of them. Some snarky comment about how she had no more leverage over him? Sure. But something so gentle and revered? Not really. 

But, come to think of it, Lance Hunter was a man of many surprises. The twin knitted caps sitting in her diaper bag proved that. 

Her blue eyes followed the gentle rocking motion he had set up with their small daughter. His eyes were soft like she'd only glimpsed a time or two before. And his hands were so big supporting her tiny head . . .

"They are," Bobbi whispered in reply, sight returning to her son tucked against her bare chest. His twin sister had already had her turn, now wrapped snugly and cradled by her father. 

Her fingers gently trailed through the wispy blonde threads of hair atop his head. His sister was already beating him in that area; already a clearly pronounced chestnut, she was clearly her daddy's girl. 

She smiled softly as his pink lips parted in a tiny yawn, revealing his soft gums. He snuggled back into her chest as best he could, which wasn't much. 

"We have to name them, you know," she murmured, rubbing light circles on her son's back. 

Hunter nodded, uncharacteristically quiet with the tenderness of the moment. "Yeah," he managed, still watching his sleeping daughter. "What are you thinking?"

Bobbi was sorely tempted to poke something back at him, as their relationship usually consisted. But he was too engrossed, so she allowed the moment to slide. "I . . . I'm not sure. It has to be good, you know. Not Barbara or any of that."

"Or Lancelot," Hunter chuckled softly. "Never that,"

"No," Bobbi agreed, grinning. 

Baby names hadn't ever been pressing. The past eight months now felt surreal, as if it was some form of dream. The fact that now they each held an actual human, half her, half him, only now seemed to matter. She bit the inside of her cheek, wishing that she'd taken Simmons' well used baby name books when the scientist had first offered. 

"Well," Bobbi spoke softly after a few more moments of drawing nothing. "Name the first name that pops to mind,"

Hunter took a moment, eyes never leaving his daughter's still face. "Luke,"

Her lips curled up, almost laughing. "Lila,"

Hunter's eyes widened, darting to his wife's. "Did we just . . ?"

"Name our children after Star Wars characters? I believe so," 

Bobbi laughed, sweaty strands of blond hair falling in her eyes. "Luke and Lila . . . A nice twist . . ."

"And the whole family is badass." Hunter chuckled. "I like it,"

Her son - Luke, her heart leapt - shifted to look up at her blearily. His eyes were bright blue, matching hers with just the slightest hint of newborn gray. 

She smiled. "Let me guess - Lila's eyes are brown,"

Hunter cleared his throat tightly. "Yep," he croaked out, again not daring to glance from his daughter's face. 

Bobbi laughed, leaning out to grab her husband lightly by the arm and pull him into a kiss.

 


	10. Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bored and the college/high school thing isn't working out so here have some stuff :)

"What in the hell is that thing?"

Her fingers tightly clutching the hunting knife wrapped firmly in her palms, Jemma shook her head.

The thing, as Daisy so eloquently put it, wasn't human. _No surprise there_ , Jemma thought dully. But then again, when was he last time anything in her life was human? Other than Daisy, she might well be a hermit with a car for a friend.

Inwardly clearing her mind, she focused again on the figure before her. He was wearing a trench coat of all things, covering what appeared to be a simple white dress shirt and tie. His hair was mussed, jaw unshaven, and eyes bright blue . . . decidedly rather un-demon like, in her experience.

Nonetheless, this thing had just resisted iron and salt rounds, every warding symbol Melinda May could come up with, and the demon blade she currently clutched.

The - _thing_ , for lack of a better term - cocked his head curiously at her. Jemma scrunched up her nose in an attempt to look fierce, but knew it was a losing battle. She'd never been able to look determined, much to Daisy's never ending amusement.

"I'm not a thing," he spoke, startling Jemma into nearly losing her knife. His voice was soft, a Scottish lilt to the undertone. She felt a shiver down her spine.

His eyes landed heavily on Jemma, blue and clear with fascination. The huntress swallowed around the apprehension in her throat. "Then what are you?"

The crease in his forehead crinkled, eyebrows scrunching. "I'm not a demon, if that is what you mean." Eyes still on Jemma, almost as if ignoring Daisy's presence, he took a short step towards the trees at the edge of the clearing. The faint moonlight lit his curls, giving him an almost luminescent glow. "I'm an angel of the Lord,"


	11. Air Ais Dhomh

_air ais dhomh - back to me. A post 4x07 drabble_

\---

  
She holds him close and hears his heart race as their mouths meet in the middle. He's sorrow and sweetness and oh-so-tender, holding her tight against the demons that threaten to pull them down.

His hand shakes, and she takes it and kisses it.

_It's going to okay, my love._

They're crying and clinging but the love is there. It's _you came back to me_ and _you're more than that_ and it's simply them.

It's them against the world yet again.

_It almost took you._

_But it didn't._

So they hold each other, clinging to their one thread left in the world, and kiss away the tears that collect on lashes. Their clothes fall away until it's simply them, creating love in a place so devoid of it.

They were tore apart today. He was stranded between hell and a deeper pit, watching as the living slowly shrank from his grasp. She was pulled away like an animal to the slaughter, eyes hooded and senses tossed.

But they're here now. They made it back, and this reunion isn't like the others before it.

They aren't collapsing into each other after he's killed a monster, after their friend is bleeding his life onto the floor of the Zephyr.

_Men were lost,_ he still replies, holding her fragile frame gently against the waves of spirits attempting to claw their way into his mind.

_Yes_ , she returns, wiping a single crystal droplet from his sea blue pools. _But they weren't you, and for that I am grateful._


	12. Moving In

" _Push_ , Fitz!"

"Pushing, Jems!"

"Harder!"

"I'm going as hard as I can, ugh, Jemma -" Fitz grunted, pushing as hard as he could.

Jemma tugged harder on the mattress, internally wincing at the strain on her fingers. "Goodness, what do they make these things out of - rocks?"

Fitz groaned with relief as his girlfriend finally stopped pulling her end of the mattress. He slumped against it in relief. "I still don't see how this is easier than just asking Coulson for a bigger bunk."

Jemma sighed in her signature _ugh-Fitz_ fashion, repeating with an affectionate exasperation: "Because asking for a couple's bunk means _explaining_ why we need a couple's bunk, and I'm still not ready for that conversation."

Fitz pursed his lips, sliding his fingers through his curls, but before he could reply, the door directly next to them in the Playground's narrow hallway opened.

Out stepped Mack, eyes squinted with sleep. "Really, you two?" He grumbled. "It's two in the damn morning."

Fitz's eyes darted from the mechanic to his girlfriend, whose own eyes were widened in a _oh-shit-we're-caught_ look.

"And what the hell are you doing anyway? Not enough space in the one double for the both of you?" He shook his head in a faux undignified manner.

Jemma gaped at him, struggling for words, before finally eking out a response. "You aren't . . . Wondering what we're doing with a mattress in the hallway in the middle of the night . . ."

"I think I can take a wild guess," Mack muttered, casting one last glare at the pair. "Just keep it down, would you? If I can hear the one bed rocking all night, I can certainly hear you two purposefully trying to move another,"

"Y-You mean," Fitz's face was in flames. "You know . . . About. . .?" He wagged a finger between himself and Jemma.

Mack gave him a flat look. "As I've said before, you make a lot of racket for two polite young Englishmen."

Jemma turned on her heel, hiding her cheeks behind her curtain of hair. "Well then, Fitz and I will just be getting along,"

And with one last eye roll from Mack, FitzSimmons continued tugging their extra mattress into Jemma's bunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is still one of my favorite things I've ever written for nothing other than the vaguely sexual opener


	13. I Can't Believe You Talked Me Into This

"I _can't_ believe you talked me into this,"

Jemma, laughing jovially, turned to face her boyfriend. "Talked you into what, Fitzy?" She batted her eyelashes in an uncharacteristic fashion, only serving to deepen his mood.

"Really, Jemma? _Really_?" He pursed his lips as the cart they were strapped into lurched backward into darkness, moaning sickly. "Oh, God, Jems, we're going to die. The suspension cables are going to give out at the top, leaving us to plummet -"

"You are the passengers on a most uncommon elevator about to ascend into your very own episode of The Twilight Zone."

"Jemmaaaa," he groaned, clutching he side handles of his seat. "We've survived too much to give it all up now,"

She rolled her eyes, something he could practically feel even in the dark of the ride. "Please, Fitz. If I can survive jumping out of a plane then surely you can -"

"Would you two shut up?!" Came a voice from the back, and Fitz swiveled in his seat to make out a face that looked suspiciously like a Koenig.

But before he could shoot back a scorching reply (and oh boy, did he have a good one) the cart of death had given them one last look at the sun before dropping them into the abyss.

What happened after that was mostly a blur, but all he knew was that Jemma now had a new souvenir key ring with his screaming face.


	14. Rain

"Stop the car,"

Fitz, his hands firmly on the wheel, squinting against the rain, nearly laughed. But a quick glance at Jemma's face told him she was entirely serious.

"What? Why?" he tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice, but Jemma - as always - saw right through him.

She gave him a puzzled look. "To feel the rain, of course,"

He sputtered, a crack of thunder ringing out. "We're in the middle of a lightning storm, and you wanna stop and feel the rain?"

"Of course," she gave him a innocent grin, zipping up her jacket. "Nothing better to do, do we?"

Internally, Fitz believed there were many things they could do. Such as hurry to their newly rented cottage and warm up via the fireplace and a warm cup of tea. But in that instant, Jemma's face, turned toward the window, lit up with a bolt of lightning. It was barely an instant, but the light lit up every curve of her face and hair. He was struck by the way she seemed so carefree, the ever present darkness in her eyes lifted.

Two minutes later, Jemma was pulling him from his seat and into a small clearing in the trees. Rain cascaded down around them, a soft patter against the rusty colored leaves.

Jemma turned her face up towards the sky, and he watched as drop after drop slid down the slope of her cheeks and the curve of her nose.

She was his everything. She was clever and beautiful and smart. And here she was, feeling the rain on her skin like some stereotypical romantic comedy star - while he watched on without a care as to what anyone driving by might think.

Droplets were wetting her curls, beading against her parka, and the warmth of her eyes matched the wet wood of the trees around them. She was laughing and pulling him into a kiss by the lapels of his jacket, and he could taste the earth on her lips and the sky on her tongue.

She pulled back slowly, and in that instant, he knew he had never been more sure of anything in his life.

"Marry me,"


	15. Ghost

He sees her in flashes.

In the shadows of the day, and the flickers of light in the night. Her eyes, her smile, her laughter. It ricochets off the walls around him, bouncing like light in a prism, and he decides that must be true. Because surely nothing could be as colorful and bright and melodious as this woman.

A part of him decides he must be going insane. Because there's pieces of a girl that assemble themselves in the darkness of his room at night. Haunting him. But somehow, he can't bring himself to chase away the ghosts.

Sometimes, when he falls into bed with a woman who is decidedly not his haunting spirit, he thinks he hears whispered promises and breaths of the cosmos floating through the air. But then his eyes open to the sight of a woman he won't remember in a week, a month, and wonders what makes the vision so special. Why will all of these nights and people disappear but this one ghost remain?

As far back as he can recall, he has never had anything to do with this woman. He has never touched her skin, never felt her breath tickle his ear, and he has never heard her gentle lilt. But regardless, he can smell the lavender of her hair, taste chamomile of her lips, and can feel safe. He knows what it is like to hold her close, to love her.

But she is a phantom; she brings a smile and a question to his lips before the flashes fade and he's left staring into empty space. What makes her so unique? Why won't she leave him alone?

He can see the freckles on her cheeks; pencils in her hair. He can see the way tendrils of hair fall in front of wide, wondrous eyes that hold constellations. But he does not know her. Not truly.

He thinks perhaps one day she will fade. Her features will melt into the nothingness they appeared from, and he will be set free. No more hauntingly beautiful smiles or doe-eyed looks. No more of the pleasure on her face as they give themselves over to each other, no more breathy metaphors or quick wit.

She is a ghost with no name, yet he wants her to be real. He wants to feel her warmth through the jumpers she seems so find of, or the taste of tea on her lips. He wants her, whole and breathing and alive. No more of this déjà vu and half completed visions.

They stop one day. No wilting shadows or shapes or sounds. Simply silence.

He thinks somehow that this is it; he can finally breath again. But a part of him chips off and disappears with the mystery girl, back into the void they came from.

But then she's there, her eyes wide, face pale, hair messy and tangled and lips full, holding that last tiny piece of himself in her palms, and somehow he knows.

She was never just a dream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally cannot stop listening to Me Against The Devil from the American Satan soundtrack and it's a serious problem. I cannot wait for this movie. 
> 
> Find me on Instagram/Tumblr - @WhenTheSkyeQuakes


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